By Elena Clark 
In the beginning, motherhood was a magical journey full of excitement and wonder. Every new milestone brought me joy and amazement:
First ultrasound.
First kicks in the belly.
First time to hear her cry.
First time to hold her.
First time to breastfeed her.
First time to see her smile.
First time to listen to her say “Mama.”
First tooth to come out.
First time to walk.
From the beginning of my pregnancy until her first year of life outside the belly, I’ve been through many milestones almost every week. Even though I felt tired and hadn’t slept more than three hours in a row in the past year, I was grateful and humbled to call myself her mom. I was constantly amazed by everything she was doing. She was so smart, so cute, so irresistible. I couldn’t believe she was mine.
At 5 p.m., I was leaving the office and literally running on the street to pick her up as soon as possible from the daycare. I couldn’t wait to see her. I missed her so much the whole day at work. After picking her up from the daycare, we were used to going to the park where I enjoyed everything she did—her laughs, giggles, and interactions with the other kids. She was my everything.
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When she was a year and a half, I stopped breastfeeding her. I was pregnant with her little sister in the third month and feeling quite sick.
At the same time, she was more and more independent. She wanted to do everything by herself. She didn’t accept no for an answer, and it always needed to be her way.
Every single thing became a fight that she always needed to win. She was getting better and better at arguing and throwing tantrums every time I said no. I was desperately trying to be patient and calmly explain everything to her.
Then she was two years old, and I had my second one. The terrible twos hit big sister, and, as a result, they hit me pretty hard too. I became less and less patient. I felt less and less amazed. The fatigue and exhaustion took over.
I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I didn’t even remember what it was like to be myself. I found myself becoming a terrible mama.
I was so tired, stressed, and feeling overwhelmed. I was easily frustrated, often losing my temper and feeling guilty for not being the patient, loving mother I wanted to be.
I was just craving to have moments by myself alone, completely alone—no baby hanging on my breast or a toddler trying to have her piece of me.
I realized what the terrible twos really meant and why they were so terrible. I have also realized that the terrible twos made me a terrible mama.
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My eldest daughter is five years old now. I have learned to accept that parenting is a messy, imperfect process and that making mistakes along the way is okay. I’ve come to embrace the chaos of motherhood, learning to find joy and humor in everyday moments.
While the terrible twos may go way beyond two, they will eventually come to an end. Just remember, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
While the terrible twos may be extremely tough, they will also teach us valuable lessons about patience, resilience, and the power of unconditional love.
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